


Clothes Minded

by DistantStorm



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:59:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18901621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: Zavala's trying to pick a suit to wear to an event. Amanda finds an incriminating hair.





	Clothes Minded

Amanda is sitting behind him, on his bed. She's swinging her legs over the side, listening to the rustle of elegant fabric from her dress. He's trying to decide which suit to wear. It's not a Vanguard function, so his armor is inappropriate. This isn’t her first rodeo, nor is it the first time she’s forgotten to bring her data-pad, to check numbers while he fusses over which one of his fancy suits to wear.

“That dark gray one ya got is nice,” She offers after five minutes with no progress. “It'll match my dress.”

He hums something pensive and sighs, further combing through his clothing. The slate colored suit is smart, but it’s made of hearty worsted and he prefers the breathability of silk. “I think the navy suit will look better,” He replies eventually, having compromised and decided upon one that’s cashmere.

There's silence behind him. Not even idle fidgeting.

“Amanda?”

She startles. “Oh, uh, wha?”

“Navy?” He asks her, turning around, holding up the hangar with the suit for her to see.

She looks at the suit for a long, long while, then blinks at him and smiles. “Sure. Ya always look great in dark blue. Brings out yer eyes.”

He nods, taking the suit out of the bedroom and into his en-suite, closing the door to get dressed. It's a rather straightforward process, and certainly easier to tie a tie than don his armor. Amanda hasn't moved when he comes out, still perched on the side of his bed.

“Everything alright?”

She's squinting down at her hands. “You,” She sighs, “Uh, you sure you don't wanna bring someone else?”

“Amanda, we always go together.”

“Yeah, and it's fun, it is,” She drawls sweetly. “Y'know I love spendin’ time with you, even if it's these stuffy faction parties.”

“So, what's the problem?”

The Shipwright sighs. “What about Hawthorne?”

“Hawthorne? Why-”

Amanda holds up a strand of black hair, sliding her fingertips to each end to display the length of the thick follicle, and tilts her head in a question, as if it should explain everything. He opens his mouth, quick to offer a rebuttal, but she chuckles. “I know your tells by now. Yer ears’re red. No hidin’ from me, Commander. 'Sides, I can see another on the pillow from here.”

He looks suitably found out. She tries her best not to laugh at the pun. “These events make her uncomfortable.”

“So does a Consensus meetin’ but she attends those all the time. This shindig ain't even for New Monarchy.” Amanda crosses her arms and mimics the Commander's trademark eyebrow raise.

“I wanted to bring you.” He steps in front of her, cradling her right cheek in the palm of his hand. “This is our thing.” He smiles, and she matches it, nose scrunching. “It’s always been our thing.”

“Yeah, I s’pose,” She murmurs. He tuts. “But it’s only our thing because you caught me sneakin’ into that Dead Orbit party, what - how many years ago?”

“Still not long enough for me to forget that you were underage.”

“Yeah, yeah I remember. You threatened to turn me in. You remember why ya didn’t, or did you only remember the parts where I misbehaved?” She grins.

He shakes his head. “I remember.”

“That damn faction booster was undressin’ you with her eyes all night. By the way, think we’ll see her?” Her eyes light up with glee. “Oh my stars,” She gushes, “Could you imagine? Suraya would totally fight her.”

Zavala gives her a tilted sort of nod, the type of gesture that confirms Amanda’s thinking. “In any case,” He segways, “Hawthor-” Amanda raises her brows again. He revises, sighing, “Suraya was invited. She offered to take my shift tonight so that I could accompany you.”

“She knows we’re goin’ together?”

“Have I missed something?” He rears back, looking at her like he’s never seen her before. “Are you a threat?”

Amanda laughs along with the joke. “Oh, heavens no! If anything I’m mor’uva threat to you, assumin’ you don’t let our Deputy come home.” Zavala gives her a mock glower. “What? She’s got a pretty face, a good heart, and a smart mouth. That’s everything a gal wants in her woman.”

“Holliday…”

“ _Sir_ …” She attempts to groups back but dissolves into giggles, flopping back onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. Her hand finds his wrist. She tugs gently.

He sighs, not wanting to wrinkle his suit, but knows himself well enough to just go with it. Not quite as recklessly, he sits on the edge of the bed and lays back beside her. “I’m happy for you,” She says, quietly, linking their fingers. It reminds him of when she was much smaller, when his fist swallowed hers easily. “So ya know.”

“Thank you.” He squeezes her hand. “You approve?”

She rolls onto her side, ignorant of the creases she’s putting into her dress. Her eyes meet his fiercely. “Of course I do!”

“Good.” He stands, pulling her up with him. She rises as daintily as she can - which isn’t very, considering the bionic leg.

“But.. if she hurts you, I’ll kill her,” The Shipwright says, when he releases her hand to make a final adjustment to his tie. “You were mine first, you know.”

He pecks her on the forehead, drawing her in close. She hugs him tight and he rumbles, “I know.”

“And it might be a little weird since we’re,” She draws back and gestures to them, back and forth. He knows what Amanda means. “And she’s what? Five, six years older than me? Maybe?”

“Eight,” He reluctantly admits. “But don’t tell her I told you.”

“Our little secret. But seriously? In this family dynamic, she’s gonna end up bein’ the sister-mom. And that’s weird.”

His eyebrows rise and he looks down at her. “And how does Sloane fit into this equation?”

“She’s an outlier.”

“Ah, ah,” He says, procuring her shawl from the back of his couch, on their way to the door. “If Suraya’s the…” He sighs, “Sister-mom,” Amanda snorts out a laugh at his overly proper speech fumbling over the phrase, “Then Sloane would have to be the daughter-aunt.”

“That makes no sense!”

“Neither does sister-mom,” He presses, holding open the door for her to step out into the hallway.

“Makes a hell’uva lot more sense than daughter-aunt.”

Zavala shakes his head and closes the door behind them. Her youthful giggles make him smile, despite himself, as he offers her his arm. She eventually quiets, mouth twisted as she thinks on something.

“Hey, what does all this make you and Devrim?”


End file.
